Through the Eyes of a Child
by kaly
Summary: A chance meeting brings back reflections of the past. Cowritten with Geminigrl11.


Title: Through the Eyes of a Child  
Authors: kaly (razrbkr (at) juno (dot) com)  
and Geminigrl11 (geminigrl11 (at) hotmail (dot) com)  
Category: Gen  
Characters: Sam, Dean  
Word Count: 2700  
Rating: G  
Spoilers: none  
Summary: A chance meeting brings back reflections of the past.

Notes: A first collaboration! This started as a scene in another fic Gem wrote that maybe, someday, will even be posted. Kaly took this ball and ran with it and created a whole other story. Consider this a test drive of if the two of us can play nicely with others. ;)

Disclaimer: Not ours. The pretty, snarky, angsty brothers belong to Kripke & the CW.

Through the Eyes of a Child

They had been in Arizona for just shy of a week, news of a poltergeist having caught Sam's eye on the Internet. The cleansing had been easy enough at first; it was far from the first time they'd been in that situation. Things had changed, however, when Dean had been thrown from a second story window during the poltergeist's death throws. A parting gift, of a sort.

A trip to the emergency room later, and they were holed up in a dingy motel on the outskirts of town. Dean was oblivious to the world on painkillers, rousing only when Sam would wake him for more medicine or something to drink. It made for a rather dull couple of days, Sam's usual protests for quiet seeming to bite him in the ass.

Satisfied that Dean was down for the count and unlikely to be waking soon, Sam resigned himself to leaving the room for a bit. A quick glance in his wallet - a twenty and a ten, their meager credit cards reserved solely for the room - and Sam grabbed the keys.

Fresh air and sunlight sounded just about perfect, but more importantly they were in dire need of supplies if they were going to be motel-bound much longer. There was a small convenience store on the corner, a twenty-four hour place that had long since seen better days.

Sam glanced back toward the room, debating between taking the car or walking to the store. The chance to stretch his legs beckoned him. Feeling for his phone in his pocket, he scribbled a note telling Dean to call him if he needed him, before leaving.

The lack of traffic surprised him, although he was pretty sure - not positive - it was early Sunday morning. Maybe the lack of traffic wasn't so surprising, really, just another clue how removed he'd become from the outside world since Dean's accident.

There was no sidewalk, just a well-worn path in the grass next to the road. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Sam began walking toward the store.

He was halfway there when he noticed two kids - maybe six and ten - following a similar path on the other side of the road. The older was on the outside, leading the younger by the hand. Though too far away to hear them, Sam smiled at the way the older, a boy, ruffled his little sister's hair.

Before he could wonder why they were walking around alone, no adults in sight, the boy tugged on her hand and they ran further down the road, before ducking onto a side street. Vaguely recalling housing in that area, from the night they'd picked the motel, Sam shrugged and turned back toward the store.

* * *

He'd forgotten about it by the time he saw them again, this time playing in the town square park. He was on his way to the library, hoping to find a direction for them to head in once Dean was feeling better. He'd been researching in the motel room, but Dean's sleep was light, restless, and even the glow from the computer screen seemed to bother him. Sam wanted him to rest, knew he needed it. And it was probably a good idea for him to get out of the room before the walls encroached on him any more than they already had. 

There was no playground to speak of, but there were a few stone monuments, and the kids seemed to be finding enough fun either way. The boy had found a stick was using like a sword. He'd set the little girl on the top of one of the monuments, and seemed to be directing her motions as she waited for his apparent rescue. She watched with rapt attention, following his instructions to the letter.

It didn't escape Sam's notice that the boy had positioned her on the flattest, lowest part of the monument, and that he instinctively reached for her every time she neared the edge.

Sam could hear their laughter as he waited at the end of the block for the light to change.

"Is Mommy coming home soon?" He heard the girl ask.

There was a slight pause, almost imperceptible, but Sam caught himself watching out of the corner of his eye, wondering what the answer was going to be.

"She's got a double shift tonight, remember? You'll see her when you wake up tomorrow." Their play had stopped, the little girl looking down, painting imaginary circles on the stone.

"I hate double shifts."

"I know. I do, too." The light had changed, the street empty, but Sam couldn't make himself cross yet.

"Tell you what? How about we make a fort and eat our supper in there?"

The little girl looked up excitedly. "Can we use the big blankets?"

"Yes, runt, we can use the big blankets. Now, come on! You have to be ready when the Knight comes to rescue you!" He tickled her and she shrieked with laughter, the sound chasing Sam as he finally crossed the street and climbed the library stairs.

* * *

A day later, Dean was far more coherent but still not quite up to being on the road. His usual execrable sick behavior was out in full force. The water was too warm. The lights were too bright. The pillows were too flat. The soup was too runny. Sam had to remind himself that just a day or two before, he'd been worried. It helped to curb the instinct to slip Dean another pain pill in his 'runny' soup, at least. 

Taking a deep breath - Dean's mood would pass when he felt better and they were back on the road, it always did - Sam closed his eyes and counted to ten. Once done, he opened his eyes and faced his brother.

"Dude. Chill." Dean opened his mouth to respond but Sam held up his hand. "No. Whatever you're about to say just don't." Mouth snapping shut, Dean crossed his arms over his chest - Sam could swear he was pouting. "Huh. Shoulda tried that ages ago."

"Sam, I swear, just let me..."

"No!" Sam interrupted, tossing the remote onto Dean's bed. "We're not going anywhere till at least tomorrow, man. The doctor said you needed to stay put."

"And since when do we listen to them?"

"Since now, Dean. So shut up and eat your soup, okay? I figure since we're stuck here, I might as well take care of the laundry." Dean grinned, causing Sam to groan. "Yeah, thought you might get a kick out of that," he replied, dumping their duffel bags on his own bed.

"Make sure you put the blue stuff in this time, Sammy. My clothes need to smell all nice to impress the ladies, ya know."

Having sorted the clothes in order of dirtiness, Sam began repacking those that were most in need of cleaning. He only had enough change for a couple of loads, and fabric softener was definitely not on the list to buy. Turning, he said, "Keep it up and I'm turning your underwear pink."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me," Sam replied, tossing the bag over his shoulder and leaving the room.

He'd asked at the front desk about a nearby Laundromat but thanks to poor directions, it had still taken him twenty minutes just to find the place. Once there, he had to admit it was less than impressive even by their standards.

Shrugging - there wasn't much he could do about it - Sam killed the car, grabbed the bag and headed inside. The place was nearly deserted, a couple sitting at a table in the back; an older man hidden behind a newspaper; what looked like a college student, asleep on her books.

He easily found a couple of washers open; they were even right next to one another (it was the little things, after all) and began piling their clothes inside. Contrary to his threat, he made sure the darks went into one load and the lights another. He didn't want his clothes pink any more than Dean did.

He'd just put the money in, starting the cycle, when he heard a thump on the other side of the line of washers. A moment later, a head appeared across from him, in front of one of the machines. Tilting his head to the side, Sam wondered at the odds of seeing the same boy yet again.

Not wanting to be caught staring, he retreated to the wall, found a chair and dropped into it. Pulling a newspaper out of his bag, he opened it to the national news before again looking for the boy. Sam watched as he wrestled clothes out of the dryer and into a basket, half-worried the boy would fall in headfirst.

The longer he sat there, trying not to be obvious, the more Sam realized this wasn't an unusual occurrences for the little boy. He couldn't help thinking of when he'd seen him before - by the road and in the park - and the way he'd been with his kid sister. Breath catching in his throat, suddenly Sam wasn't seeing this stranger's child but instead, his own flesh and blood.

The hair was different, darker; the eyes were lighter but no less serious. The shoulders held a weight Sam was familiar with seeing on another set. He had seen this boy, time and again, day after day, growing up.

The sound of squeaking wheels snapped Sam from his memories and when he looked over again, the boy was gone.

* * *

One last shopping trip, and they'd be ready to go. Sam offered to go to the store while Dean packed the car, figuring it would be the last chance he'd have for a few hours to stretch his legs. Well aware of exactly how much money they had left, Sam quickly gathered what few things couldn't be spared. 

The boy was ahead of him in the checkout, and Sam watched silently as he counted out spilled change and rumpled ones, only to come up short. "What do you want to put back, hon?" The cashier was kind, but it didn't really help.

The boy put his hand to his forehead in a gesture far too old for his age and said, "We need the milk."

The cashier had started to set aside the rest when Sam put his items with the boy's. "I've got this."

Sam could tell he didn't want to take it - was maybe even a little scared to. He just smiled and backed up a couple of paces, let the boy take his time to decide. He tried not to think again about how much he looked like Dean at that age - strong and capable and achingly young. It made Sam's chest hurt.

It hadn't been an easy childhood, for either of them. But having each other had made even the toughest times okay. Sometimes, even great. Sam figured it was probably pretty much the same for this boy and his sister.

The cashier's hand hovered over a loaf of white bread, waiting until the boy finally nodded. It was hard to say who looked more relieved.

He waited until the boy had gathered up his bag and started to walk away before he moved up. The boy hesitated in the automatic door, letting it bang a time or two as it tried to open when it already was. "Thank you."

And then he smiled, eyes going a little soft, hunched shoulders relaxing a fraction. Sam smiled back, waved a little, and watched him cross the parking lot and then the busy street.

He stopped the cashier before she rang up the second sandwich, said he really didn't need it. He grabbed his own bag and headed back to the motel.

Dean was leaning against the door of the Impala, waiting. "You got everything?"

"Yup." Sam put the alcohol and ibuprofen in the first aid kit along with a few replacement bandages. He tossed Dean the sandwich and handed him a Mountain Dew before closing the trunk.

Dean had the sandwich half-gone by the time they pulled out of the parking lot. "Where's yours?" he asked around a mouthful of turkey.

"Ate it on the way," Sam lied as he stretched out a little. "You think the credit cards'll be waiting in Topeka?"

"Yeah," Dean swallowed. "Shouldn't have cut it so close." It wasn't like Dean had been lazy - between the hunt and his injury some things had gotten left by the wayside. But excuses - even good ones - didn't pay the bills.

"We got any cash left?"

Sam shook his head. "Used the last of it."

Dean nodded, took another bite. "We should make it to the post office some time tomorrow. I'll find a pool game tonight, make enough to get us some dinner and gas."

It went unsaid that they'd be sleeping in the car. They tried to avoid that whenever they could, since it wasn't exactly a comfortable fit for either of them. But those kinds of sacrifices went with the territory.

* * *

They'd been driving for a little while, winding their way through the city roads headed toward highway 69. And if he never heard another joke about the highway number, Sam thought, glancing over at Dean who was cackling at yet another one, it would be too soon. 

Rounding a corner, Sam was taken aback by the sight on the side of the road. He was seriously beginning to wonder what the odds were of seeing the same children so many times in so few days. But there they were, once more, walking beside the road just as when he'd first seen them.

The little girl was smiling up at her brother. Sam imagined he could hear her giggling at some silly joke meant solely to make her smile. He watched as the boy tugged her hand, moving her further away from the traffic.

Almost too soon for Sam's liking, they had passed them and he craned his neck to see them in the side mirror. Only once he could see the right spot, he was disappointed to find they were no longer there.

"Dude, ants in your pants or what?"

"What?" he asked, now turned around in the seat. The side of the road, however, remained stubbornly empty.

"What's with all the squirming? We're not even out of town yet and it's still a long drive to Topeka. Too long for the contortionist act you've got going."

Sam turned to look at Dean, shaking his head slightly. "No, no. I'm good."

Dean glanced over at him for a second, before turning his eyes back to the road. "You look like you just saw a ghost, Sammy." Sam's lips quirked at _that_ particular description and Dean amended, "Well, not really. I mean, I know what that looks like on you. You look even weirder than usual. What gives?"

Slumping in the seat, Sam reminded himself that it wasn't normal to become attached to someone he didn't even know. No matter how much they reminded him of his own childhood. He wasn't the one meant to keep them safe, or watch out for them, even if the sight of something so familiar made him want to, desperately. It was a weird feeling.

Instead, he settled for saying "I'm fine, Dean."

Dean shrugged, as if dismissing the topic, but there was still a hint of concern in his eyes. "If you say so."

"Wake me when it's my turn to drive?" Sam asked. Days of taking care of Dean - of not wanting to sleep more than he had to, lest he miss something important - finally catching up to him.

Another concerned glance from the driver's seat, followed by a smirk. "As if."

"Dean..."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll wake you." For several moments there was no noise but the purr of engine, the wheels turning on asphalt, the radio blessedly silent. "Sammy..."

Turning his head, Sam cracked his eyes open to slits, just enough to see Dean, the serious tone begging his attention. "Hmm?"

"Nothing," Dean said, shaking his head, voice lighter. "Never mind. Get some sleep, okay?"

Sam smiled. "Thanks, Dean."

fin


End file.
